


Belief

by Hawkguys_and_Coffee



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Because Ben Fankhauser has SUCH a good voice, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I couldn't resist the riffs, Jack Needs a Hug, Jack just loves the sunset, Medda is queen, Mid-strike, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 07:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkguys_and_Coffee/pseuds/Hawkguys_and_Coffee
Summary: Is anybody listeningTo the song that I sing?Does anyone even know who I am?If I sing hallelujahRight on up to yaWould your angels even give a damn?A songfic based on Belief by Ben FankhauserRated T cause I'm paranoid.





	Belief

_Every time I see the sunset, I look for something more in it, as if something will pop out to me right there._

For as long as Jack could remember, he would watch the sun rise. It was somewhat of a ritual, watching the sleeping city roll back to life like a flower blossoming in the cusp of winter. At first it was him and Mama that watched the sunset each day, but then it was Papa after she died. Now, he continued the tradition with Crutchie.

_The paper and the tv, well, they all wanna save me. They point me to the sunset so I stare._

It was no secret that life as a newsie was hard. Days were spent scrounging for spare change and haggling prices of much needed items. Not everyone got a warm meal, not everyone got a roof over their head.  
And yet every night he looked forward to the swirl of colors that marked the start of a new day. Jack found solace in painting it, found solace in capturing the array of colors on a canvas like a trapped memory.

_Is anybody listening to the song that I sing?_

One of the rules on the street was not to pay attention to anyone. Don't chatter with a shady stranger, don't hang around near bad places longer than necessary. Mind your own business, and no trouble would find you. Keep your head low and you were safe.

_Does anyone even know who I am?_

Sometimes, Jack would do the opposite just to see what could happen. Just to feel the thrum of his heart beating in his chest, the adrenaline pumping through his veins like fire. He took risks. He broke laws. He stole clothes and food like the fabled Robin Hood with the intention of helping those with even less than him. It was dangerous work, but he didn't mind. He didn't mind at all.  
"Jack Kelly? You're under arrest for multiple accounts of property theft and the illegal trafficking of food and clothing."

_If I sing hallelujah right on up to ya, would your angels even give a damn?_

To everyone, he was just another face in the crowd, another poor soul who would never make it out of the city. And Jack new it too.  
But with the strike he felt like more than a hopeless boy. He felt free. He felt like he was on top of the world. He felt like he truly belonged here, fighting alongside his brothers in arms. And it worked out well. That is, until everything came crashing down on his head.

_When the cowards turn to soldiers to solve all their problems I wonder what I'm supposed to believe._

Jack slammed his fist into the brick wall, ignoring the pain that came immediately after. It was nothing to the one he felt broiling inside him. They were kids. What could they have possibly been thinking when they organized the strike? The newsboys could barely stay fed, let alone take on The World. And now look where it had gotten them. Over half the boys were beaten too bad to sell, and Crutchie was. . . Crutchie was gone.  
"Stupid," He muttered under his breath as he pressed his bleeding knuckles into the fabric of his vest.

_And the news reporters set the blame to the people who don't think the same. I wonder what they're trying to achieve._

So Jack did what he did best. He ran. He ran and he barely looked back, throwing himself into work at Medda's theatre. He painted new backdrops. He patched the hole in the roof. He climbed up onto the rafters to change the light bulbs. He even volunteered to run errands around the city for the stage crew.  
Anything to use as an excuse not to sell.

_I don't know what I'm supposed to do- I want so much to believe in you, but it's hard when there's no justice for the peace._

"Jack, please," Katherine said, putting a hand on his shoulder. The boy immediately shrugged it off. "I need your help. We need your help. This is more than just a children's strike over a few cents. It's a fight for equality."  
It was odd to see her here, in Lower Manhattan. Even though he had been trying to avoid her, they had still managed to meet yet again. This time, outside of an Italian bakery on 5th Avenue.  
He scoffed and turned to walk away, a brown package holding costumes for Medda under his arm. "Yeah? Well you shoulda mentioned that before we got clobbered by the bulls."

_Staring at the sunset from my roof looking for some kind of proof._

He didn't say a word to any of the newsies when he stormed into the lodge, a door slamming in his wake. A cold shoulder was all he needed to convey his feeling towards the strike.  
It really was hopeless, and they were all fools to believe they could make a dent in their cause. No matter what they did, Crutchie would still be in the refuge. No matter what they did, the bulls would always come again, and again, and again. No matter what they did, they were just kids.  
Jack dug his nails into his palms, almost enough to draw blood. Glancing down, he surveyed the dark street below him. Empty.  
His arms shook as he held them out at his sides. Wind rippled the fabric if his vest, blowing it out like a cape. Some hero he was.  
Squinting in the early morning sunlight, Jack took a single step forward until his toes were hanging off the edge of the roof. One little fall. One little fall and this would all go away. 

_When there's none is sight I guess that's called belief._

It was the sunset that stopped him. The shining colors of a new day. Proof that maybe the world wasn't ending at this very moment. Colors reflected off windows and steeples, casting the world in an ethereal glow.  
Jack couldn't help but notice that the pinks matched almost exactly to the shade of Katherine's dress when they first met only a few days ago. How the bright yellow somehow captured the way Crutchie smiled at a stupid joke or a dumb mistake. The deep purple that painfully reminded him of Medda's theatre curtains. The light blue that matched Race's eyes.

_So is this belief?_

Ever so slowly, Jack crouched down onto his hands and knees before sliding back to rooftop. He was shaking like a leaf in the wind, but somehow he felt more alive than he ever had been. Tears pooled in his eyes as he moved into a sitting position, back facing the edge of the building. Back facing the edge of the world.

_Is anybody listening to the song that I sing?_

"Katherine?" It hadn't been hard to find her. In fact, they had found him. Jack was paining the sunset when they had walked into the theatre, focusing on the pinks and yellows and purples and blues, that all blended together in seamless harmony.

_Does anyone even know who I am?_

"What do we need to do to win this strike once and for all?"

_If I sing hallelujah right on up to ya, would your angels even give a damn?_

The young reporter smiled and interlaced their fingers, giving him a tight squeeze. "We fight with everything we've got. And when we have nothing left? We'll just fight harder."

_Would you give a damn?_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm *in love* with Ben's voice and have been wanting to write this for a while, so here it is. :-)


End file.
